Various Artists

You Don't Need Darkness to Do What You Think Is Right

The premise behind You Don't Need Darkness to Do What You Think Is Right was to introduce to Japanese ...

The premise behind You Don't Need Darkness to Do What You Think Is Right was to introduce to Japanese listeners the bands of Domino Records subsidiary Geographic, a vanity label of sorts curated by those ambassadors of twee, the Pastels. It was commissioned by the Japan's Trattoria, the vanity label of Cornelius. And if that isn't enough vanity for you, check this out: the Pastels saw fit to hand themselves the first two slots on this comp. How generous!

Somehow (we'll call it fate), this comp missed Japan entirely and ended up on my desk. And while my life hasn't been changed by it, it does contain a number of redeeming qualities. The songs gathered here, with a few exceptions, are exclusive to this release, and I imagine most people who would consider buying this are either Kevin Shields completists (I've been told they still exist) or diehard fans of pasty Scottish indie rock. As for the first count, all I can say is don't bother. The Shields track that ends this collection, "Outro," is by far the most worthless and unmemorable moment here: a very unremarkable interpretation/remix of the Pastels' song that opens the disc, "Intro," which was fairly unremarkable to begin with. But I guess if you're a completist, by definition, this little tip won't make much difference. Sucker.

As for the other contribution from the Pastels, it's a cover of Sly Stone's "Everybody Is a Star" (the compilation's title is culled from one of its lines). And if you've ever wanted to hear a decent song drained of its lifeblood and anaesthetized into oblivion, here's your chance. Me, after forcing myself through it a few times for the sake of reference, I now skip directly to track three, which is a ramshackle pop tune from Glasgow's International Airport called "Cordial Arrest." Frontman Tom Crossley (himself a member of the Pastels, as well as Appendix Out) has a voice like a less gruff and more tuneful Damien Jurado, and the music sounds a lot like the early work of fellow Scots Belle & Sebastian. Must be something in the ale.

Future Pilot AKA follows, offering up a fun, if somewhat cold, reggae chant with pling-plong beats, bells, and a tad bit of scratching (turntables or guitar strings, I'm not completely sure). Bill Wells Octet continues in the goofy (yet, again cold, ironic, and distant) vein with a jazzy, happy-go-lucky, whistle-led instrumental that sounds like it comes from a Sesame Street skit-- you know, the one where the kid is walking in the rain, skipping mud puddles, wearing a bright yellow raincoat and shiny red galoshes.

Two Japanese bands come next (giving the Japanese listener a sense that Geographic really cares, I assume): the quixotic Zappa-esque Maher Shalal Hash Baz and Japan's resident Neil-Young-o-philes, Nagisa Ni Te. I've never heard the music of Maher Shalal Hash Baz before, and to be honest, after hearing their "Stone In the River," I'm not exactly rushing over to Forced Exposure to catch up with them: boring, and with an annoying affected weirdness to it, like Zappa at his worst. Nagisa Ni Te's effort, on the other hand, is something that would get me interested in their music had I not heard it before. As it is though, I have. "Me On the Beach" is a re-recording of a song from their excellent On the Love Beach album. The song begins with Harvest-like acoustic guitar and harmonica, and ends with a blast of feedback echoing Rust Never Sleeps. Yet the band's dual male/female vocals (and, well, the fact that they're Japanese) helps rescue them from the ranks of banal American imitators.

The mid-section of this comp is where things begin to really drag, though, with a handful of uneventful and interchangeable electronic instrumentals, an almost stereotypical German techno number, and an obligatory half-assed Low imitation. On the plus side, there is a excellent Appendix Out song. "The Language of Things," while kinda wordy and didactic, is beautifully expressed through Ali Roberts' creeky chords and one-of-a-kind moan. He is the Scottish Will Oldham. Or maybe Oldham is the American Ali Roberts. You get my point. Both call upon the spectre of history through their updated folk without crumbling under the oppressive weight of the past. And speaking of Will Oldham, wasn't "No More Rides" a Palace song? Well, it sounds like it. Either way, National Park has a song here by that name and it's good. Not as frazzled or unpredictable as the Bonnie Prince, but getting down to a pretty bleak vibe through a similar route all the same.

If I could use one word to sum up this comp it would be 'chilly.' Sometimes austerity is used for some greater good, but elsewhere its sole purpose is to leave an arty gloss upon everything. You Don't Need Darkness left me feeling like I'd just watched a particularly bleak European (maybe Scandinavian) film: while it peered honestly into some dark corners and a faint glimmer of truth was told, its primary purpose seemed to be to leave you feeling cold about yourself and the universe around you.